


A Proper Story

by Thingsareswinging



Series: The Magical Adventures of Commander Rucks [1]
Category: Bastion, Mass Effect
Genre: AU fusion, Commander Rucks, Gen, ME1, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thingsareswinging/pseuds/Thingsareswinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a few hours left before it's all over.  All there's left to do is sit and talk for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Story

**Author's Note:**

> This may be one of the more dumb things I've ever written, but it was definitely fun.

A proper story’s supposed to start at the beginning. Well, can’t say I know where that is, for this one. Might be just a few weeks ago. More likely fifty thousand years back. Could be a good while further still.

Suppose I’ll give it a try, though. We got a few hours to kill, anyhow.

—

I wasn’t born into a military family. As a kid, wasn’t much interested in guns and the like. I wanted to be a scientist. Always wanted to know how spaceships stayed up. Wanted to see what was out there, in the gaps between the stars.

Life’s just full of little ironies, I guess.

But as I was saying, fightin’ wasn’t in my blood, and I didn’t think it was much in my nature. I was a colony kid, youngest of three. My daddy was an engineer, my mother staying at home to look after all of us. A good childhood. Not the best, you might say, but better than most got. On my fourteenth birthday, my daddy gave me a cael hammer. Didn’t rightly understand why, at the time. He said it was for when I was older. Call it a …family tradition.

Then the raiders came. Batarian pirates, looking to do what they did. Don’t rightly remember much from that day. Nor do I care to.

When it’s all over, I walk the streets, just looking, hoping for another face. Walking past broken homes and bloody walls. The Tunder brothers. Didn’t make it. The Jawsons. Didn’t make it. The Bird Boy. Didn’t make it. Grady Senior, Grady Junior. Didn’t make it. A whole mess of others I don’t clearly recall. None of ‘em made it. Nothing left of the place but ghosts and gunsmoke.

I just raged for a while, turning my hammer on anything in reach. They don’t build colony furnishings so tough, and I dare say there’s a dining table or two out there that remembers what it did that day. But all anger fades sooner or later, and even I could see that there wasn’t anything to do but head on out to the communications centre, see if there was anyone in the vicinity worth talking to.

Then I turn a corner, and what do I see? A survivor?

No, Ma’am. It’s a batarian. A few of ‘em stayed behind, just to make sure there weren’t any stragglers.

So what do I do?

Well, I had my hammer, didn’t I?

I don’t imagine that they were expecting much of a fight. Being straight with you, I couldn’t call what I gave ‘em ‘much of a fight’. I knew the streets, better than they did, anyhow, and even with all the eyes in their heads, it’s mighty hard to spot a kid creeping up on you from behind. ‘Specially if you’re lookin’ for someone hiding under the bed.

I was always strong for my age. It’d been the only way to stop the other kids pickin’ on me for my hair.

After a couple of days, the marines swing by to see what’s what. A lot of bluster and energy to make up for the fact that there’s not a damn thing they can do any more, and they know it. After a week, they push off.

They take me with ‘em. And, what with one thing and another, I end up joining ‘em.

Torfan… hell, I can’t say I’m proud of what I done on Torfan. Best I can say is the job got done. The batarians left us alone after that one. I was a different man, in those days. I hope.

You might get the impression that I got something against our friends in the Hegemony. Think I did, once. Not so much these days. Hate’s tiring, and I got enough to tire me out.

Still, between the colony and Torfan, I got noticed by the high-ups, and pushed into the illustrious brotherhood they call the N7 program. Can’t say it’s all they made it out to be, but there is one good thing about it. You get given a little autonomy about what gear you carry. Picking up that cael hammer again was like coming home.

Don’t listen to what anybody tells you- there ain’t much you can’t handle, with rifle and hammer in hand.

And then one day, we head out to a little place called Eden Prime. And on the way, fella called Nihlus tells me they want to make me a Spectre. What’m I supposed to say, no?

But this story’s not about me. Not just about me, anyway.

—

Eden Prime. The jewel in the Alliance’s crown. First human colony, and the most prosperous. You see any advertisement for colony living, you’ve seen Eden Prime. Nestled right on the lip of the Terminus, and even that don’t deter folks from moving there. And now they’ve gone and dug up a genuine prothean artefact. Things just keep lookin’ up for Eden Prime.

We get a distress call from the place right as we’re about to set down. It looks bad, what little we see at all. Just a flicker of gunfire and a few marines. And what looks for all the world like a black hand reaching down, through the clouds, like the gods themselves had come to step all over Eden Prime.

There ain’t much we can do but go down and have a look for ourselves. They send a couple’a good men with me, all we can spare. It’s a small ship we’re on, everyone’s got a role to play. This one’s mine.

Kaidan Alenko. Good man. Doesn’t quite know his way around a razor- if a man’s going to grow hair, he should grow hair, that’s all I’m sayin’; I could never abide that neither-here-nor-there look- but a good head on his shoulders, poor beard etiquette aside. Patient and thoughtful. Could learn to lighten up, though.

Jenkins. Poor old Jenkins. Didn’t deserve what he got, that one. Nobody does, of course.

I’d like to say I knew him well, that he’ll be remembered for the part he played. But all I could say for sure about the kid was that he was born on Eden Prime, and he died on Eden Prime.

—

The geth. Lightbulb-headed tin men, gabbing all clickwise in that strange way of theirs. Ain’t been nothing but a few lines in a history textbook, right up until they’re sticking people on the dragon’s teeth like olives on a cocktail stick. Ain’t many people can truthfully say they’ve seen something like that.

Ash Williams can, though whether she’d want to or not is a whole other question.

Ash Williams. Now there’s a one. Ain’t got much sense of timing, nor much interest in social graces. Thinks just ‘cause a thing happens to be true, it has to be said real quick, as loud as she can say it. Thinks she’s invincible, ain’t afraid of anything ‘cept the possibility that all the good fightin’ll get done before she’s had a turn.

When you get right down to brass tacks, we ain’t got all that much in common. But I like her anyway.

—

The dragon’s teeth ain’t just a way of intimidatin’ folks. They’re a strange kind of weapon, ones that suck all the juice outta people, replace it with nano-technology. What do you get when you force a dead man to get up and start fightin’ the living?

Well, in time, we called ‘em husks.

—

Remember that thing I told you about? The big ol’ hand we saw in the video? Well, we got a real good look at the thing on the way to the dig site. Turns out it was the bottom half of a ship. A massive, cuttlefish-looking thing, all wreathed in lightning and smoke. Didn’t see it for too long, distracted as I was by a dead man tryin’ to relieve me of my head, but it was plenty long enough to make an impression.

—

We meet up with Nihlus at the spaceport, just like we planned. Only he ain’t in such good shape no more. Whoever got him got him quick- he never got a chance to draw them fancy Spectre-grade firearms of his.

An eyewitness fills in the details. Another turian was here, one Nihlus was apparently already acquainted with. Well enough that he turned his back on the man.

Saren Arterius. Lot of folks got a lot to say about Saren Arterius. Lot of it good, lot of it bad. Well, ain’t none of us saints, are we? I reserve judgement, for the moment. No point in being hasty.

—

Well, we don’t find Saren.

But we do find the beacon.

It’s a strange thing, lookin’ more like a solid slab of bronze than anything you’d use to talk with. It makes me uncomfortable, bein’ this near to it. Makes the hairs on the back of my neck dance, and my fists itch. Something about it just screams bad news.

Turns out that I’m not the only one with a reaction to it. Ash goes a little closer than Kaidan and me, daring the thing to do something weird.

The thing obliges, pluckin’ her off the ground before you could blink, colouring the air bronze and angry. The whole moment lasts maybe three seconds, and then, bam. Drops Ash to the ground. And that’s all it’s got juice for, it seems, ‘cause the whole thing just crumbles away like frozen glass under boiling water.

Ash don’t wake up. Not for a long while.

—

When she does, she ain’t the same no more. Whatever that beacon did, it spooked her, and spooked her good.

I can’t imagine what it’s like, the dying scream of the protheans burned into your head like that. It ain’t stopped her, though. If anything, it’s sped her up. She don’t talk about nothin’ but stopping Saren no more. Our captain listens. So we’re off to the Citadel.

Should be an eventful trip, I remember thinking to myself at the time.

—

The Citadel. Well, what can I say about the Citadel that ain’t already been said?

It reminds me of a song, but for the life of me I can’t recall the words.

—

I go with Ash and the captain to go see the Council, but I don’t end up sayin’ much. They got my report, if they want it. Ash, though, ain’t quite learned yet that it takes more to convince some people than sayin’ what you just said twice, in a louder voice. They all but boot us down the stairs.

We’re gonna need proof. And I have an feelin’ we might know where to get it.

—

Garrus Vakarian. He’s a strange one, full of fire and frustration. Quick to judge, one way or the other. Handy with a rifle, though. Could give a gnat on the wing a shave and a haircut. More importantly, he’s got a lead on Saren. In a manner of speaking, anyhow. He knows that a quarian girl’s arrived on the Citadel, lookin’ to trade some big secret in exchange for safe conduct. A fella by the name of Fist wants her wiped out, and word is Fist’s in Saren’s pocket. I ain’t no detective, but as far as I can see, the chase is on.

We pick up some muscle along the way. Urdnot Wrex- a krogan, and an old one. Born around the time the Dark Ages were just startin’ to wind down back on Earth, he’s probably killed more people than half a dozen wars.

I think we’re gonna get along alright.

—

With Vakarian and Wrex along for the ride, it don’t take long to get what’s needed out of Fist. Wrex cleans up once we’re done. Vakarian acts startled; guess he must not’ve been listenin’ earlier.

We ain’t got time to argue ‘bout it, though. We got a quarian to rescue.

—

Tali’Zorah nar Rayya, as it turns out, don’t need much in the way of rescuin’.

And she got dirt on Saren alright, evidence that he’s behind the attack on Eden Prime, from his own two lips. Four lips. Mandible things. You take my meanin’.

But that’s not all. No, Ma’am.

The Reapers. Sound like a fairy tale, don’t it? An old story, before the retellings wash the blood out of it. A race of synthetic monsters that come outta nowhere, burn the protheans to nothin’, then just up and vanish, like a nightmare in the light of day.

I don’t believe it. But Ash does.

But they let me do the talkin’ to the Council, this time.

—

New job, new bosses.

The First Human Spectre. Well, ain’t that a thing.

They toss me the keys to the Normandy and tell me to get after Saren. Well, alright then. Don’t make a lot of changes to the ship. Just one, actually. Bought myself one of those fancy home-size distilleries, figure I might as well put it in the captain’s cabin. It’s where I brewed up this stuff we’re drinkin’, by the by.

They stay. Vakarian, Wrex, and Tali’Zorah, I mean. They ain’t got to, but they stay. I don’t mind. I get the feeling I could grow to like these people.

‘Sides, it throws people off, seeing a human ship pull up at their door and drop a krogan on ‘em.

—

We hit Therum- a little mining colony in the back end of Artemis Tau that the gods ain’t quite finished putting together yet, judging from the lava all over the place. You wouldn’t know for looking at it, but Therum’s a regular golden egg. A real prize for the Alliance. Judging by the presence of prothean ruins, our distant predecessors must’ve thought so too. We’re not here for the mineral rights, though. We’re looking for… well, I guess you know who we’re lookin’ for, don’t you? We ain’t sure what to expect, so we figure we go scope her out early, make sure we’re not setting ourselves up for a nasty surprise some time down the line.

‘Course, Therum means our first real run in with our most persistent foe. The mako. Now, I don’t care what anybody says about my driving, that thing is an abomination of engineering. I swear they shipped it to us half finished.

Oh, and the place is crawling with geth too, but that’s by the by.

We make it to the prothean ruins, expecting a fight. Don’t get one, though. Which makes for a pleasant change, once we get the good doctor out of the predicament she’s found herself in.

Well, she ain’t in league with Saren, which comes as a relief, seeing as it would be awful impolite to start fightin’ in the middle of introductions, but she don’t know much about Saren nor the Conduit, neither. Still, it don’t seem proper to leave the lady at the bottom of a collapsing mineshaft, so we offer to escort her to safety.

Unfortunately, there’s a krogan battlemaster who has plans to the contrary. I try to explain that this ain’t the time nor the place, not with the ceiling crumbling around our ears, but some folks just can’t be reasoned with.

I had never fought a krogan before. He was strong, but he had me pegged all wrong. Thought I’d go for cover, try and get him with the rifle.

He wasn’t expecting the hammer, that’s for sure. Even a krogan’s got to take notice of a beaten-in skull, though I will allow that it takes him a good minute and a half to realise he’s dead.

—

The doctor joins our crew. If I got reservations ‘bout letting a civilian get involved in all this, she proves ‘em unfounded quicker than I can voice ‘em.

—

It ain’t always easy, running two jobs at once. Sure, we were on a mission of galactic security, but that didn’t mean that the thousand little crises just went away.

Admiral Hackett. Now there’s a man I don’t mind salutin’. Started his career with nothin’ but a gold bar to his name, now look at him. Besides, people like to see a couple’a scars on their senior officers. Reminds ‘em that the life military ain’t just a fancy desk job with a better dress code.

But he took it upon himself to request our aid pretty much every time we hit a new system. Nothing beyond our capabilities, of course, but some of us started to wonder why we even hada navy, when we were cleaning up Alliance messes once planet at a time.

We storm a whole mess of geth outposts in one system, and Tali’Zorah gets all giddy over some string of code she finds afterwards, sifting through their heads. Software’s never been my particular area of expertise- I’m more at home with a pipe wrench than a keyboard, tell the truth- but it seems important to her, and I ain’t about to deny her a copy of the thing. Right of salvage says it’s hers anyhow.

One time, we have a run-in with a gang by the name of Cerberus. Scuttlebutt says that Cerberus was an Alliance organisation, the most covert of covert forces, made to do all the unsavoury tasks we all like to pretend don’t need to get done. ‘Cept I’m told they got tired of takin’ orders from the likes of Hackett, especially when word comes down the chain that they have to start playin’ nice with the council races. Some people just can’t let go, I suppose.

Of course, it seems that they might have more problems than that, if the experiments we interrupt aren’t particular wild outliers. I ain’t as grounded in the sciences as I’d like, but it seems to me that seeing what happens when you plant a squad of marines on top of a desert heavin’ with thresher maws ain’t exactly the most logical of experiments. But as I said, I ain’t a professional scientist.

—

Noveria ain’t exactly my favourite spot in the galaxy. If you can get past the climate, then there’s the fact that the whole place is home turf for some of the biggest corporations in the galaxy. Waving their plastic greetings at us until they realise there’s nothin’ they’re selling that we’re buying. When it becomes clear that we ain’t a business opportunity, they ain’t so helpful any more.

I don’t much care for Noveria. I don’t much care for the types of folk that come here, neither- thoughtless moneyspinners, so caught up in the game they’re playin’ they can’t see the galaxy as anythin’ more profound than a spreadsheet.

They won’t let us go up to the research station, not without a pass. Everyone knows somethin’ bad’s going on up there, somethin’ they really can’t handle, but they don’t figure there’s any advantage to them for us to go take a look, so they stall us best they can. Guess they’re hopin’ the problem’ll just disappear if they close their eyes long enough.

Still, there’s only so long they can hold out, and with a little legwork, we get ourselves permission to leave.

—

Peak Fifteen. Ain’t too much I care to say about Peak Fifteen. Best thing to come out of that place is the way the doctor strides alongside us. She’s keepin’ pace with me and Wrex both, ain’t put off by the howl of the wind, nor the twisted wreckage that the station’s become, nor by the rachni.

They thought the rachni were all extinct. Well, they ain’t. And they been breedin’ em here, for whatever reason.

If a gal ain’t put off by rachni, then there ain’t much out there that can hope to put the wind up her.

We do what we came to do at Peak Fifteen. It gets complicated quick, but we ain’t got a lot of choices, in the end. For what it’s worth, I figure we handled our business as well as we could, given the circumstances.

Don’t learn a whole lot, and what we do learn don’t make much sense, but it’s somethin’, I guess.

But there’s still the question of the rachni.

—

We’re put in a strange situation. We’ve got the chance to end the rachni once and for all, make sure they never rear their heads again. Or, we can let ‘em go, see what kinda world they create.

It’s a tough call. Wrex argues as you’d guess he would. T’Soni, though…

Well, it’s been a long day for Liara T’Soni, and I ain’t sure she’s in the mood for seein’ another death. Maybe I ain’t lookin’ at it right, but the truth is there ain’t no way to see the future. No tellin’ what the rachni might become in a hundred years.

I let ‘em go. Call me sentimental.

—

One morning, Vakarian’s up all full of vinegar ‘bout a fella by the name of Doctor Saleon. Seems the good doctor is something of a black mark in Garrus’ otherwise spotless record. Did a lot of unlicensed surgery back in the day, and got clean away, with a shuttle fulla hostages, no less. Nowadays apparently he’s going by the name of Doctor Heart- his idea of a joke, Vakarian assures me, and glory be, his ship just so happens to be in the area. Ain’t no harm in paying a social call, now, is there?

‘Cept things aren’t quite as cut and dry as all that. We get aboard, and there don’t seem to be anyone home. Anyone you’d call sane, anyhow. There’s… well, now I come to tell it, I ain’t quite sure what they were, ‘cept they used to be people, and now they’re something that makes even Wrex’s nose turn up.

And we find the good doctor, and things are worse still. Garrus is all raring to pop the guy, ‘cept this Doctor Heart says he don’t know what’s going on, and he’s been trapped on this barge for days. Got to say, his story’s watertight, as far as it goes. We did find him cowering in a supply room. For all we know he could’ve been there praying for salvation.

Garrus don’t want to listen to reason, but you can see it in his eyes. In his head he’d cooked up a way this was gonna go, and this wasn’t it. I didn’t say anything, just watched. Let him make his own decision. He’s a smart kid, you can see the wheels turnin’ in his head. Disabling the ship and leaving him for the authorities is the smart move- if you trust the bureaucracy not to muck it up. On the other hand, shoot now, and you might just a man who might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tough call. I’m interested to see what Vakarian does. Here’s a kid who’s always seen things in black and white, and right in front of him’s a whole mess of grey.

In the end, Heart makes the call for him. Garrus motions like he’s gonna call the constabulary, and Heart snaps, diving at him with a syringe fulla who-knows-what. Garrus puts him down quick and clean.

I tell him he did right, for what it’s worth. He ain’t in the mood to hear it, though, and I don’t press him.

—

We’re lured to Feros by reports of geth activity.

Why can’t any darn thing we do ever be simple?

—

Geth invaders, obstructive bureaucrats, the same old song and dance. The Thorian, though. The Thorian’s new.

That’s the thing about this galaxy- you can think you know everything that’s out there, then all it takes is ten minutes on a new planet, and you see somethin’ you ain’t never seen before. One day we might even meet somethin’ that ain’t lookin’ to fight us.

The Thorian is a particularly nasty piece of work, though. Real special. It gets its roots into your head and, by all accounts, it don’t let go for love nor money. By the time it realises we’re gunnin’ for it, the whole colony’s dancin’ to its tune.

I don’t like it, but I’m ready to do what I got to. But little Tali’Zorah speaks up. They ain’t trained combatants, she says. Surely we can take ‘em down without takin’ em out.

It worries me that the thought hadn’t occurred to me first. It worries me more that I had to think about it for a moment. In the end, though, we play it her way. She’s right. They ain’t much trouble at all.

When we get to it, the Thorian, it turns out, don’t look like no plant I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some strange plants in my time. Spits out its little monsters that don’t do much but give me a headache and coat us all in a sticky green ooze, head to foot. They ain’t no match for the hammer, and in the end, the Thorian ain’t either.

One of the prizes the thing spits out is an asari, by the name of Shiala. Used to be part of Saren’s entourage, traded for what the Thorian had- somethin’ called the Cipher. Turns out this cipher, combined with the knowledge from the beacon, lays out a clear map to the Catalyst. Whatever the Catalyst may be.

I ain’t so sure we should be trustin’ Shiala that easy, but it’s not like we got much choice. She does her mind-meldin’ trick on Ash, who goes a little green at the edges, but says nothin’. Give it a few days, she says, and it’ll all fall into place.

Lucky us, we get a tip off from the Council about a place, name of Virmire. Should keep us busy for a while.

—

Virmire looks like the kind of place you see in holiday brochures. A spot to relax in a hammock with a complicated drink and some simple music. Not a place to make a clone army. But by now I’m dog-tired of all the cold, so it’s a welcome change of scenery.

There’s a salarian team, or rather, the remains of a salarian team, on the ground to meet us. Situation don’t look cheery. Saren’s building himself an army, they tell us. Out of cloned krogan. Seems Saren found a way to circumnavigate the genophage.

Naturally, this state of affairs can’t be allowed to continue.

‘Course, Wrex don’t take all this too well. We end up having a… frank exchange of views. If we’d been younger men, no doubt in my mind we’d have come to blows.

I’m glad it don’t come to that. I ain’t too sure I’d win, for one thing.

—

In the end, we work out a two-pronged attack. Me and my team at one end, the salarians drawin’ fire from another. ‘Course, salarians bein’ salarians, they ain’t got much in the way of muscle. Ash volunteers, having muscle to spare. Seems a logical solution.

—

Virmire ain’t the right kind of planet for the things we find in that facility. It’s too warm, too bright. It all seems like the wrong venue to be findin’ out about indoctrination.

I ain’t sure there is a right place to find out about Sovereign.

Sovereign. Now that takes the wind right outta our sails. I’d like to say I put a brave face on it- I wouldn’t pay too much heed to my toaster oven if it started talkin’ about enslavin’ humanity, so no reason I should care what another man’s ship says- but I ain’t in the business of lyin’.

There’s somethin’ about Sovereign. You can tell it means every word.

—

Things get messy right around the time Kaidan’s settin’ up the bomb. Word gets through that Ash is getting’ swarmed, and the only reinforcements we can spare is us. So, we set off.

It’s a trap. Second we leave, Alenko’s jumped. He does the only thing he can, and rigs the bomb to go off sooner than planned. We got just enough time to scoop up Ash and get out.

She tells us to go back for him. He says we need her. The key’s locked up in that head of her’s still, ain’t no good in anything we’ve done if she gets fried now.

He’s right, of course. He makes his decision, and we abide by it.

—

Saren. Here’s a meetin’ that’s long overdue.

I got good reason to despise Saren. I got every reason to find the thought of my hammer splittin’ his head like an overripe apple a particularly comforting one. I got the feelin’ I should be angry at this man.

As you might’ve guessed, though, I ain’t. Not so much. He ain’t in his right mind no more, and he’s tryin’ to help, in a way. Talk of appeasement, of submission. Hell, he’s speakin’ with more authority than most, having seen what he has.

Still, that don’t mean I gotta listen. I ain’t got anything against him personally, but I sure ain’t takin’ the knee to some god from dark space. Bowin’ just ain’t in my nature.

—

We make it out of the atmosphere in time to see the bomb go off. Ain’t never seen a pyre like it.

—

After Virmire… well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I’d invested in my distillery. We all did what we had to, to get through that night, didn’t we? I drank, and later, when I’d got good and mellow, I drew. I ain’t never been a religious man, but I guess once in a while, we all need a prayer.

Not a lotta folks ever seen my sketches. Fewer still’ve seen the memorial wall. I call it that, but it’s just a loose collection of drawin’s of things I think deserve rememberin’. I put ‘em on my wall, in my last cabin. Ain’t had time to lay ‘em out yet, in my new one.

It ain’t a perfect likeness, done straight from memory, but I like it nonetheless.

—

Next day, we all meet again, for the last time. All the pieces are in place, we hope. Doctor T’Soni does her thing, opens up Ash’s brain and pokes around for a while- at least, that’s how I understood it, but then I never did quite wrap my head around asari mumbo-jumbo. No offense.

But between them, they work it out. A route map to Ilos. Where Saren’s headed, and where we’ll find the Catalyst.

This is all lookin’ a little above our pay grade, tell the truth.

—

In the end, ain’t nothing we can do but head back to the Citadel, lay it all out to the Council.

They listen to everythin’ but the important part. They don’t think Saren’s a threat no more, and, what with Ilos bein’ so deep in the Terminus, they ain’t gonna risk sendin’ a fleet just to grab him.

All this wouldn’t be a problem, ‘cept they ground us, too. Think I’m startin’ to understand how Ash felt, first time we were here.

But if the Council think a little technicality like an impounding is gonna get us to sit idle while there’s a job that needs doin’… well, they don’t know us too well.

—

Ilos. Can’t rightly say what we’re gonna find there. Can’t rightly say what Saren’s looking for, what he thinks he’s gonna get. But whatever we find, sifting through ruins fifty thousand years behind their time…

Well, it’s gonna be a story worth talking about, that’s for sure.


End file.
